Guerreiro Tavares trained half of his life to be in a mercenary guild. Assassinated people and served criminals. A corpsman when he was in the Navy SEAL but perplexed when he was mandated to watch over a woman in a vegetative state.
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THERE ARE SPLATTERS of blood on my skin and on my shirt. Pieces of flesh are in front of me.
There is a fucking finger inside the cell and a dead body outside!
What the hell just happened? Everything was so fast.
I was just concerned because the kid was about to pass out and then this?!
My stomach clenched.
Blood was everywhere.
This is the most blood I've encountered compared to what I've seen in my lifetime.
The sight of the flesh away from the body is making my head dizzy.
It's crazy how I never saw death and dead bodies but several are now laying on my feet.
I want to go home.
I lost count of how many times I repeated those words. It's horrible to think that I was just overlooking the things that I have and I did not appreciate it.
I miss home. I miss my loved ones.
Are they okay? How are they doing right now? It's killing me not knowing anything about my family.
What would I give to end this misery? Not just for me but all the victims here. My heart is aching physically.
I'm so fucking exhausted from everything.
Another set of gunshots rang. My shoulders still flinched albeit I'm aware it was so far from this location.
The sounds of cries and violence were muffled because of the closed door. But I am aware that the soldier and whoever was outside were fighting earlier.
I pressed the towel harder on the boy's hand.
His eyelids are getting heavier. My pulse raised even higher.
No!
Is he going to die here too?
I can't do anything more. I can't save him like this. I really thought that the mercenary was about to help him a while ago but he was just keen on catching their enemy.
His actions confused me not until the violence occurred.
My heart and my head are not able to handle these myriads of emotions and thoughts at the same time.
A gasp escaped my lips when the door opened. Suddenly, the room was filled with men.
Three soldiers.
One was dragging a nurse. The other one was supporting the mercenary who was limping.
A nurse whose right hand is mutilated and the lower part of his scrubs are full of gashes with blood in each. It does not take a genius to know that he was stabbed over and over again. His clothing is saturated with vomit. His mouth is dripping with blood.
